


Like a Jackson

by properlycolorful



Category: Sleigh Bells (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:32:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/properlycolorful/pseuds/properlycolorful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught in the studio at an early hour, Alexis and Derek talk about parents and Poptarts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Jackson

**Author's Note:**

> I just love writing for these two. I hope this one came out more in character than the last though, that was a little shaky–proud of it, nevertheless. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy and have a great week! Constructive criticism is welcomed.

She hops and she jumps. She sings and she chants.

Derek honestly doesn't know where she gets this energy from, but he assumes it's the Pop Tarts she devours at night. Other than that, he has no idea how Alexis is so energetic. She's got this ball of eternal sunshine that he doesn't seem to understand. Every time she hops on her toes, his understanding goes out the window.

They've been at the studio since 5:30 AM.

She's jumping like if they've just got there. Her Keds collide against the floor, growing louder each time. There's strands of hair loose from her tight bun and her top strap has fallen along her forearm. It makes him really consider if she's on some kind of drugs, but then he remembers she's not the kind to try so.

His lips curl into a smile.

She's really not the kind to try so. Alexis is such a difference offstage, she's nothing like how she presents herself to be. She's a sweetheart. She's a genius and a sweetheart and Derek thinks that's what makes her genuine.

"I think your energy's detrimental." He mumbles, throwing his back against the maroon, leather couch. His eyes hinting a flash of amusement, it's always hard to be serious or angry around her.

She smiles widely, Keds thumping against the wooden floor. "I really want a frosted Pop Tart."

He laughs, because when doesn't she want one? He remembers precisely getting her a Pop Tart container just for that. He gave it to her just so she could store whatever frosted flavor she was feeling that day.

"What kind?" He cushions his head on the arm rest, hands below his scalp. He doesn't mind buying her some and he really wants to see how high she'll jump with increased sugar in her system. She's like a little kid, except she's not.

"Uh," she stops, her strands glued to the sweat on her skin. "I don't know– _strawberry_? I really like the new one though. It's got like this chocolate feeling. It's very velvety."

" _Velvety_?"

"Yeah, I don't know, like very smooth." She finishes, rubbing her fingers together to aid her stumped train of thought. Derek's looking at her with narrowed eyes, as if he himself wants to either try the snack or figure out the flavour himself. She never understood nor asked why he was such a great listener–despite the ridiculous, futile words she says– but it's one of the reasons she labels him as the sweetest, sugarcoated guy. It was one of the reasons she even wanted to work with him.

"Do you mean like Michael Jackson 'Smooth' or do you mean like Egyptian Cotton sheets 'smooth'?" He mumbles, his voice seasoned with wit. Alexis couldn't stop the laughter that filled her chest.

"I think it's more of a Michael Jackson 'Smooth', _yeah_." She replies softly, as her tracks directed to the couch Derek was seated on.

"Oh, okay." He nods, his smile slowly cracking into a laughter that was hidden in his chest.

Alexis moves briefly underneath his legs, placing them upon her pale, cold, thigh skin. She fiddles with the fabric of his jeans through her fingers; a loose string between her dainty hands, as a collision of thoughts reel through her head. Derek knows she has something to say, and he knows when she really wants to tell him, but for some reason she can't word it.

"Alex, just tell me." He scratches his nose, like he usually does in apprehensive situations. His left hand still cushioned beneath his scalp.

"I–can we talk about it?" She whines sweetly, her fingers pressed into the bottom of his jeans. Her eyes glance at the boy who lays over her legs, all soft wit and a cold heart. "About your dad." She practically coos.

"Alexis–"

"As a partner in this relationship, I feel like I need to know." She continues softly, not a hint of aggression in her voice. He hates that. " _Baby, please_." Alexis pushes further, kissing his jean cladded calves.

He sighs in defeat, softening at the touch of her lips against his rough Levi's. In the back of his mind, he considers himself an unfortunately lucky sun of a gun. She's like a spoonful of Tylenol; she holds him together when he feels sick and washed up. Derek couldn't necessarily ask for anyone better, or for anyone that's good to him. He couldn't, because there was just no better. It would be a phenomenon to find another girl like her. "He was never there. He–my mom was alone and he was never there."

Alexis doesn't respond much, she doesn't say anything at all. He just feels the soft traces of her hand over his and her sad eyes.

"That's it." He finishes, gripping her colorfully painted fingers in his hands.

"You know how Michael Jackson's dad was a really inimical guy?" She abruptly started, eyes drifting towards the soundproof glass. The happiness slowly regaining in her eyes as she spoke.

"I mean, my moonwalk is still rough–"

"No," she stifled her laughter, "his dad was very terrible to him, but look at the effect he made." She told him gently, her smile widening as his grew. "Michael turned out to be the most phenomenal entertainer in the history of music. Just like you, well not exactly, but you turned out just fine– _even_ better."

His smile grew like an invasive vine. "I guess you're sort of right. I did grow up with the Poltergeist family. That's a certain kind of rare fortune."

"Yeah." She nodded jeeringly, her soft voice wavering with dishonesty. "That's– _that_ 's a certain kind of luck right there. How many times is anyone lucky enough to be raised by a traumatizing horror film?"

His laughter only echoed through the halls in response.


End file.
